Buck carried Kristie to the fake ambulance. By this time the drugs she had been given were mostly out of her system. She insisted that she was okay and able to sit. The pilot and co-pilot had not been arrested but were brought along for questioning.
Kristie sat on Buck’s right, and Kruger sat on his left. The mood was solemn. No one seemed to want to talk, especially Kruger. He just sat there staring into space while SWAT team members carried on subdued conversations.
Finally, Kruger turned to Buck and asked, “How in hell did you find me?”
Buck gazed directly into Kruger’s eyes and said, “We surmised you might charter a plane to try to leave the country. You gave yourself away on the ride from Rikers to the exchange site. You bragged about how you would soon be living a life of luxury in a climate that was warm all year round. With no extradition treaty with the U.S., Vanuatu fit the bill. It only took a few phone calls to figure it out, Mr. James P. Smith.”
“Shit! Me and my big mouth. I know I shouldn’t have used that name. Humperdinck would’ve been better.”
Buck laughed. “I think Daffy Duck would suit you just fine. No matter what name you used, we still would’ve found you. The charter to L.A. was obviously a decoy.”
Kruger finally lightened up and smiled. “You got me, Buckley Boy. I give you credit, you’re smarter than I thought you were. That’s twice now you outsmarted me. It won’t happen again.”
“What makes you think there’ll be a third time?”
Kruger smirked. “Oh, there’ll be a third time, all right. As they say, things always happen in threes.”
“I don’t think so. By the way, did you bribe the pilots to take you to Vanuatu?”
Surprised by the question, Kruger hesitated for a few seconds. “The pilots didn’t have a clue; they thought we were going to L.A. With gentle persuasion from the gun in my briefcase, I planned to convince them that Vanuatu was a better destination.”
All this time, Kristie had sat quietly listening to their conversation. Suddenly she turned toward Kruger and with venom in her voice said, “You bastard, I told you, you wouldn’t get away with it. With two kidnapping and extortion charges added to your murder and bribery charges, you’re going to be spending the rest of your miserable life rotting away in prison. I should probably add a sexual assault charge to the list, but that won’t change the outcome of your trial.”
Kruger fired back. “I should charge you with assault. You pack a mean punch. Where in hell did you learn how to kick so hard?”
“I started karate lessons when I was fourteen and had my black belt at age seventeen.”
Buck chuckled. “You messed with the wrong lady, Kruger. Kristie knows how to kick ass. By the way, how did you find out about the microchip?”
Kruger laughed. “You’d really like to know, wouldn’t you? Sorry, top-secret.”
Buck, Kristie, and the pilots were dropped off at the precinct, and Kruger was returned to the same cell at Rikers.
Kristie refused to go to the hospital. She insisted that she was okay and didn’t need to be checked out. Captain Robertson assigned a patrol officer to take Kristie to her condo. The captain told her to take a few days off and rest up before coming back to work. Kristie reluctantly agreed.
The pilots were grilled by Buck for one hour, after which they were released. He was convinced that they were not in on Kruger’s plan to fly to Vanuatu.
The chauffeur killed by Buck on the plane turned out to be a White Skulls member named Duke Cannington. His fingerprints were in the database. Cannington had a rap sheet a mile long for petty crimes and drug-related offenses. He had recently been released from prison after serving ten years of a fifteen-year sentence for involuntary manslaughter. Cannington was on parole at the time of his death. With Captain Perkins and the two pilots as witnesses, IAB immediately cleared Buck of any wrongdoing. Cannington’s death was ruled a good shooting.
CHAPTER 27
The next afternoon at his arraignment, against his lawyer’s advice, Kruger pleaded not guilty to the new charges. Since he was a high risk to flee, like before, the judge refused to grant bail.
That night Kruger couldn’t sleep. He stared at the ceiling, his mind churning. Somehow he’d find a way to escape before his trial date and get even with Buckley and that bitch Kristie Karlsson. Out of the blue, it came to him in a flash. He smiled, rolled over, and fell asleep.
At seven the next morning a guard came to Kruger’s cell carrying a metal tray. He yelled, “Welcome home, Kruger. Breakfast.”
When Kruger didn’t stir, the guard took out his nightstick and rattled the bars. “Kruger, you lazy bastard. Time to get up. I’ve got your breakfast.”
Still no response. Looking into the cell, the guard spotted what looked like a small plastic container on the floor. The cap was off, and the bottle looked empty.
“Holy shit!”
The guard inserted his key and opened the cell door. He rushed to Kruger’s bedside, bent down and picked up the empty sleeping pill container.
“Kruger, you crazy bugger, did you overdose on sleeping pills?”
The guard shook Kruger. No response. He put two fingers on the side of Kruger’s throat to check for a pulse. Without warning, Kruger turned quickly, grabbed the guard’s nightstick, and whacked him hard on the head. The guard fell forward from the vicious blow. He was out colder than an ice cube.
Kruger quickly proceeded to undress the guard. He shed his prison jumpsuit and put on the guard’s uniform. After managing to dress the guard in his jumpsuit, he lifted him onto the bed and threw the covers over him. Kruger turned the guard so that his face was not visible from the cell door. Everything took less than ten minutes. Kruger smiled, stood back, and admired his handiwork. He grabbed the guard’s key ring, and left the cell, locking the door behind him.
Kruger pulled the guard’s hat down as low as he could. Trying to walk normally, he made his way to the nearest exit door. No one seemed to notice him. It was like he was invisible. Keeping his head low, he scanned the guard’s plastic pass card. The door unlocked, and he walked outside, finding himself in a parking lot. Kruger pulled out the guard’s car keys and hit the “open” button. He surveyed the lot and saw the lights blink on a silver Chevrolet Equinox. He hurried to the SUV, got in, started the engine, and was on his way to freedom once more.
On his way to the precinct that same morning, Buck knocked on Kristie’s door. No answer. He pounded louder. This time he heard her sleepy voice. “Who is it?”
“It’s me, Buck,”
“I’ll be right there.”
A moment later, Kristie opened the door. Her hair was a mess, and her face looked tired and pale, but she still looked beautiful to Buck.
“Good morning. What time is it?” Kristie asked.
“Good morning, gorgeous. It’s seven thirty. Sorry if I woke you. I just wanted to see how you’re feeling.”
“I look a mess. I’m still a bit groggy, and I’ve got a headache. Other than that I’m fine. Come in, and I’ll make us coffee. Then I’ll shower and come with you.”
“Oh, no you won’t. You’re not going anywhere. The boss told you to take some time off, and that’s what you’re going to do. You need to rest for a few days and build up your strength.”
“But…”
“No ifs, ands, or buts. You’re going back to bed and sleep. I’ll check in on you when I come home tonight. Forget the coffee. I’ve got to go. Now get back to bed.”
Kristie saluted. “Aye, aye, sir.”
Buck chuckled, kissed Kristie softly on the lips, and gave her a hug. As he turned to leave, his cell phone rang.
“Good morning, Captain.”
As he listened, his mood became somber and the blood drained from his face.
“Okay, Captain, I’m on my way.”
Curious, Kristie asked, “What was that all abo
ut?”
“Nothing. Now go to bed before I have to carry you back. Get some rest. I’ll see you later.”
Kristie opened her mouth to protest, but Buck was already out the door.
Siren blaring, Woods weaved in and out of rush hour traffic. When he reached the Five-two, he parked the car and jogged to Captain Robertson’s office. He sat down and waited for her to finish her telephone conversation. When she hung up, the captain looked straight at Buck and said, “That was Commissioner Gowan. He’s agitated by the latest development. He wants you back on the case. Find and collar Kruger.”
Several blocks from his destination, Kruger ditched the Equinox in a mall parking lot. Twenty minutes later he knocked on an apartment door. He looked over his shoulder and up and down the corridor. It was empty.
Billy White looked through the peephole and was surprised to see Kruger. Quickly, he opened the door and motioned for him to step inside.
“What the…?”
Kruger finished his sentence. “Hell are you doing here?”
“Right. I thought you were back in custody. Are you Houdini or something? How in hell did you escape?”
Kruger told White the story, and when he had finished, he said, “I could sure use a shower and a change of clothes. Since I missed my breakfast, something to eat and coffee would be appreciated.”
“No problem. Go shower, and when you’re done, I’ll find some clean clothes for you. In the meantime, I’ll fry up bacon, scramble some eggs, and make coffee and toast.”
While he showered, Kruger sang and whistled happily. He felt as free as a bird, and this time, he intended to stay that way.
Since they were about the same size, the jeans, T-shirt, sneakers, and nylon windbreaker White gave Kruger, fit perfectly.
Once he was dressed and sitting at the kitchen table, Kruger devoured the breakfast White had prepared. “That was great,” he said as he sipped his coffee. “I really do appreciate all you’ve done for me, Goldie.”
“My pleasure. I’m always willing to help a fellow brother.”
“Speaking of help, I could really use your help again. I’ll need a new name, passport, and all the other pieces of ID like before.”
White laughed. “What name would you like this time? How about Henry Humperdinck?”
“Hilarious, Billy. As Jackie Gleason used to say, ‘You’re a riot, Alice.’”
Both men had a good laugh.
“It’ll cost you,” White said.
“How much this time?”
“Twenty-five grand. Cash up front.”
“Ouch, that hurts. Does that include the family discount?”
“Yeah, it does.”
“How soon can you get it?”
“It’ll take about a week.”
“Shit! Can you put a rush on it?”
“Sorry, if you want it done right, these things take time.”
“Okay. While I wait, can I lay low with you?”
“Sure. You can use the spare bedroom.”
“Thanks, I appreciate it. I’ve got an emergency fund stashed in a safe at a storage unit on Webster Avenue. Would you mind taking me there?”
“No problem. I can take you there now if you’d like?”
“That’s great. Let’s go.”
The building that housed the storage unit was not far from the 52nd Precinct. Kruger punched the code into the lockbox, took out the key, and opened the door. He went to the safe, dialed in the combination, and removed over one hundred thousand dollars, placing the money into a gym bag on the floor. When they were back at White’s apartment, Kruger counted out twenty-five thousand dollars in hundreds and handed the money to Billy.
“Thanks, brother,” White said. “I’ll go see my man and get things started. You can hang out here while I’m gone. I’ll be back in an hour or two. If you wanna watch TV, the remote’s on the coffee table in the living room. There’s beer in the fridge, and there’s booze in the living room bar. Help yourself. I’ll see you in a bit.”
“Okay. Thanks a lot.”
After White had left, Kruger grabbed a beer and headed to the living room. He turned on the TV, and as he was flipping through channels, he saw the words “BREAKING NEWS” come on the screen. Curious to find out what was happening his eyes stayed glued on the TV. Momentarily, a female reporter appeared with a microphone in her hand.
“Good morning. I’m Evelyn Fletcher, News Channel 10. As you can see in the background, I’m standing outside of Rikers Island jail complex. Early this morning, Lieutenant Karl Kruger of the NYPD Narcotics Division at the 40th Precinct escaped and is still at large. Kruger was awaiting trial for numerous charges including first-degree murder.” She held up a picture, and the camera zoomed in on Kruger’s face. “If you spot this man or know his whereabouts, please contact the NYPD immediately.” A phone number flashed on the screen. “Do not approach the suspect directly. He is considered armed and dangerous.”
Kruger changed the channel, only to see his face on the TV again.
“Shit,” he said to the empty room. “It looks like the whole fucking world is looking for me. I hope Billy’s man comes up with a good disguise this time. I think I’m gonna need it.”
Kruger was asleep on the couch when White came through the door. He entered the living room and gave Kruger a shake. “Wake up. I’ve got something to tell you.”
Still half asleep, Kruger rubbed his eyes. “What is it?”
“Your new ID will be ready sooner than I thought. My man said he’ll have it for you in three days.”
“That’s great! The sooner I can get out of the country, the better. But I’ve got one thing to take care of before I leave.”
“Oh, what’s that?”
“I’ve got to get even with Detectives Buckley Woods and his little bitch partner, Kristie Karlsson.”
“What are you talking about? Are you planning on bumping them off?”
“Yeah, that’s what I’m thinking.”
“Don’t be crazy. The longer you hang around, the more chance you have of getting caught again. Get the hell out of Dodge while you still can. Getting away will be all the payback you’ll need. Besides, if you kill two cops, the NYPD won’t stop hunting you down. They’ll probably get other agencies involved, including Interpol. You’ll be looking over your shoulder for the rest of your life.”
Kruger reflected for a moment. “You’re right, revenge can wait. Getting away should be my one and only priority.”
“Now you’re talkin’. I’ve got a plan I think you’re gonna like.”
“I’m all ears.”
White went on to outline his plan. When he had finished, Kruger smiled and said, “Good idea, brother. The only thing I don’t like is I’m gonna need a boatload of Gravol pills.”
CHAPTER 28
As soon as Warden Olsen had been informed of Kruger’s escape, he called Police Commissioner George Gowan with the disturbing news.
Commissioner Gowan, who usually remained calm in a crisis, bellowed into the phone, “How the fuck did you let that happen?”
Surprised by the commissioner’s anger, the warden said, “No one let it happen, Commissioner. Kruger outsmarted a guard. He pretended to have overdosed on sleeping pills. There was an empty bottle on the floor by Kruger’s bed. When the guard went inside the cell to check, Kruger surprised him. He grabbed the guard’s nightstick and knocked him out. Kruger changed clothes with the guard, put him in his bed, locked the cell, and used the guard’s pass card to leave the prison. He found the guard’s car and took off. I immediately put out a BOLO, but so far we haven‘t had any luck finding the vehicle.”
“Shit! What about the guard? How badly was he hurt?”
“When our doctor examined him, his diagnosis was that the guard had suffered a mild concussion. He had a headache, and his vision was a little blurred. The
doctor wasn’t too concerned. The guard was released and driven home to rest.”
“And how did Kruger get his hands on a sleeping pill bottle?”
“Sorry, Commissioner, I have no idea. Maybe he found it in a trash can.”
“Warden, you and I are going to have a little chat about the security or lack of it at your jail. But that will have to wait for another time. Right now I’ve got to clean up your shit and collar Kruger.” Without saying goodbye, Commissioner Gowan slammed down the receiver, cursing to himself.
That same night, two NYPD officers on patrol were driving through a mostly vacant shopping mall parking lot around 10:00 p.m. when they spotted a silver Equinox. They checked the license plate, and it matched the number given on the BOLO. Kruger had abandoned the vehicle, and no one had a clue as to his whereabouts.
Five days after Kruger’s escape, with a silly grin on his face, White handed Kruger his new ID package. He was surprised to see he was now a Canadian citizen. The Canadian passport showed his new picture and his new name as Thomas Richard Goodfellow. His date of birth was August 31, 1970, in Barrie, Ontario, Canada. His birth certificate matched the information on the passport. Also in the envelope, he found a map of the Province of Ontario, an Ontario drivers license, and a health card called an OHIP card with his picture on both pieces of ID. There was a laminated card with a Social Insurance Number that Canadians call a SIN card.
“Why did you make me a Canadian citizen? And where the fuck is Barrie?”
White laughed. “I thought you’d be surprised. You’ll have less chance of being caught. No one will ever suspect you’ll be traveling as a Canadian. You won’t even get a second glance. Canadians are polite people. They’re well-liked everywhere they go. And for your information, Barrie is about an hour’s drive north of Toronto. It is a city of around one hundred and fifty thousand located on the shores of Lake Simcoe. And surely you’ve heard of Toronto.”
New York City Murders Page 20
